


Are We There Yet?

by Rezeren



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-29 02:41:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6355633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rezeren/pseuds/Rezeren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six hours. Three hundred and sixty minutes, stuck in a train carriage with America. England decides to engage his mind by contemplating any everyday situation for a country that could possibly be worse than this. None come to mind. USUK.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are We There Yet?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to yet another story. What is this, my twentieth? Twenty-first? And my second Hetalia one! ^^
> 
> This is already written out and completed, so I can say now that it will be a two-shot.
> 
> This story was written back in 2014 before the final decision regarding the Scottish Referendum, so this is set back then before the outcome became known.
> 
> The USUK isn't anything explicit, just various pokes at their relationship and LOADS of hinting. Bits of fluff, bits of humour, and the angst is not welcome here. I said in my other USUK FanFic that I am not in the mood for angst right now. I just want this to be light-hearted and fun! It's basically just got this rating like why so many other Hetalia FanFictions do: England's mouth, plus the fact that France is in it. XD
> 
> Enjoy!

 

He should be proud whenever he hosts a world meeting in his own country, but to be honest... it's a bit of a hassle. For one thing, it's always raining whenever the meetings are held here. The other nations will take one look at the sky and be like, 'Ha. Typical British weather.'

And then England will try and convince them that it is _not_ always raining (not _all_ the time, anyway), and that there are sunny days here too. Everyone will laugh and give him condescending looks after that.

_Well, what do they expect? It's always raining in Britain because of the jet stream. Bloody idiots._

Of course, Frog-Face has his own theory on why it rains so much in Britain. He'll call England something in French that the other blonde will roughly translate as 'miserable sod', which will then cause England to reply with a scathing retort.

 _Bloody wino. Stupid wanker. Idiotic git._ The insults are endless.

 _'Ah, but you won't be depressed today, non?'_ Frog-Face says on the other end of the phone line, and England can practically see France smirking.

'What are you talking about now?' England snaps, absent-mindedly glaring over the platform to fix his eyes as far as he can down the track, trying to catch a glimpse of a train that is already five minutes late.

_'Well, you won't be alone for the train ride, will you, mon ami?'_

'If the train ever actually shows up,' England mutters. 'Bloody hell... wait, what do you mean I won't be alone?'

France gives a fake gasp. _'Ah! I should not 'ave ruined the surprise!'_

England freezes, then very slowly says, 'I swear to God, if those doors open and you're in the carriage then I will kill-'

_'Ohonhonhonhonhon! Not me, my dear Angleterre.'_

'Who is it, then?'

France laughs again. _'You'll see.'_

England breathes a sigh of relief, glad that he's not going to be faced with the bloody wino when he gets back on the train. 'I forgot, your plane hasn't even taken off yet. I don't have to worry about you annoying me just yet.'

 _'Wrong there, little_ tsundere _.'_

'Why the bloody hell does everyone keep calling me that?' England exclaims, receiving some weird looks from some other people standing on the platform. He lowers his voice slightly. 'What do you mean I'm wrong?'

_'I took a ferry instead, the day before yesterday.'_

'Wha-? Th-then, where are you now?'

 _'Birmingham,'_ France says simply.

'Why the bloody hell are you there? The meeting is in London!'

 _'Prussia dared me to pick up chicks in the city centre!'_ France says happily.

'Unbelievable,' England mutters, face-palming. 'Hang on... I'm catching another train at Birmingham International-'

 _'See you in a few 'ours!'_ France yells joyfully, quickly hanging up.

'Bloody wanker!' England screams at the phone as the line goes dead. A few feet away, a mother quickly covers her son's ears, glaring at the blonde.

_But he never told me who will be on the train with me. Who would possibly want to catch a train all the way over here in Glasgow when they could have just arrived in Britain at Heathrow Airport?_

_Please don't let it be Scotland,_ England quickly thinks, horrified at the thought of spending such a long time in a confined space with his mean older brother. _Please, please don't let it be Scotland._ After all, it would make sense. England has been spending the last few days in Glasgow, having been begged by his boss to come up here and express how sad (not really) he'd be if Scotland became independent.

 _No love loss there,_ England thinks bitterly, wishing he could have just stayed in London over the last few days.

Finally, England makes out a grey shape in the distance. 'Well, it's about time,' he says under his breath, beginning to feel nervous at the thought of who the mystery person on the train might be. He picks up the suitcase he brought to Glasgow, preparing to board the train as it pulls to a stop in front of him.

The automatic doors slide open and England stares in horror (definitely horror. This is in no way a pleasant surprise) at a tall, familiar blonde man with rectangular glasses (dubbed Texas) and a cow-lick (known as Nantucket) that will not stay down no matter how hard England has forced it to in the past.

'Hey, Iggy!' America grins. 'Surprise!'

* * *

'What the bloody hell are you doing here?!' England hisses, his stomach doing somersaults (from the shock. Not for any other reason).

America pouts. 'The World Meeting. Duh.'

'That's in London, idiot! What are you doing here in Glasgow?'

'Riding a train that will take me to London,' comes the simple reply.

If looks could kill, America would disintegrate into a smouldering pile of ash. He shivers a little at England's expression and decides to give a proper answer.

'Well, my plane landed here-'

'Why didn't you take a plane to Heathrow?'

'I was gonna do that, but-'

''Going to',' England corrects him.

'- but France told me you were in Scotland and you'd be taking a train all the way to London-'

'I'm boarding a new one at Birmingham International,' England mutters.

'- and so I thought that six hours by yourself would be totally unbearable-'

'You thought wrong.'

'- and I decided to be the hero and rescue from your boredom!' America finishes, smiling proudly.

'It's a waste of money,' England scolds him.

'What?' America asks innocently, waving his arms. 'I'm not broke or anything.'

'Tell that to your economy.'

'My economy's fine!' America exclaims.

'Yes, your country's the best,' England says sarcastically. 'Number one for crime rate, rape, teen pregnancies, obesity-'

'That's right, world, we're number one!' America yells triumphantly, sticking out his chest.

For the second time today, England face-palms. 'You're an idiot.'

'Ha ha ha ha ha! You like me really!'

 _I suppose I do, although I have no idea why,_ England thinks with a sigh.

America takes England's silence to mean yes. He pulls England into a bone-crushing hug, ignoring the smaller country's cries of complaint.

'C'mon, I'm sicking over here, Iggy!' he says, pulling England over to the seats at the other end of the carriage, surrounded by three suitcases.

'How much stuff do you need?' England demands, rolling his eyes at the younger country. 'And don't call me 'Iggy'!' he adds hastily, praying that America won't think he can get away with it.

'I've brought loads of video games to amuse me, and Japan promised to bring me all the new ones his country have developed, so I should have even more after we've seen him at the meeting.'

'Great,' England mutters, taking a seat beside the window. The sooner he's out of Scotland, the better; it's not exactly like his older brother made him feel welcomed.

His mind wonders to the surprise he felt when the doors to the carriage opened and America was standing there, wearing his favourite jacket and a huge smile. Acting as if he was actually pleased to see England. Once again, England's stomach feels like it's jumping and there's a weird fluttering in his chest. Perhaps the food he had for breakfast was off? But the milk didn't taste funny...

'Dude, you're totally spacing out,' America announces. 'You feeling okay?'

 _No, I actually feel a bit odd, as it happens._ 'I'm fine,' England dismisses, watching as the platform begins to slide by as the train starts moving again.

* * *

'Are we there yet?'

England sighs, knowing that this is only the beginning of a series of repetitive questions. 'No, git. We're only half-an-hour in.'

America whines. 'How long is this going to take?'

'You already know the journey will take six hours. You should have just taken the flight to Heathrow. Or, if you really were desperate to be on this train, you could have landed at Birmingham International and taken the train from there-'

America scrunches up his face in concentration, then gives his usual smile. 'You know what would be cool? If the train had, like, a huge jet pack and then it could zoom all the way to London faster than the speed of light-'

'Nothing can go faster than the speed of light,' England mutters.

'- and then we wouldn't have to get super bored for six hours.'

' _You_ didn't have to,' England snaps. 'I keep telling you, if you had just caught a different plane-'

'Why were you in Scotland, anyway?' America asks, rummaging around in his rucksack for his lunch.

'Honestly, you have no idea what's going on right now, do you?' England says exasperatedly. 'The Scottish Referendum? They want to become independent...? Any of this ringing a bell...?'

'… Durgh, ahrghm surrugh,' America says, his mouth full of cheese burger.

'Excuse me?' England says, watching America disdainfully.

America takes a big swallow, actually looking a little serious. 'Dude, I'm sorry.'

'Don't be. I really couldn't care less, but my boss insisted that I should come and try and express how we- as in my boss, not me- will be sorry to see them go if they do get their way.'

'That's cold, man. Scotland's your brother.'

'I stand by what I say.'

There's a bit of an uncomfortable silence after that. America wonders whether England's thinking about July the fourth and whether he considers that an entirely different situation. America is aware of England's dislike for Scotland.

* * *

'I spy with my little eye... something beginning with... ooh, M and D!'

Only one thing would get that reaction out of America. 'McDonald's,' England says without looking up from his book.

America leans back against his seat, looking a bit dejected. 'Dude, you didn't even look out of the window.'

'I didn't have to,' England says shortly, his eyes still scanning the words on the page.

America lifts the cover of the book off the table so he can see what it's called. To his surprise, half of what it says in the blurb sounds so unbelievably boring that America finds his eyelids drooping just by looking at it.

'How do you read that?' he asks.

'From left to right. If you've been taught how to read, the words should make sense inside your head.'

America scowls. 'I know how to read, England. I read the _Harry Potter_ books.'

'Only after you watched the first three films and realised how genius they were.'

'Which one's your favourite?' America asks excitedly. 'I've got to go with _The Sorcerer's Stone_ 'cause it's the very first one and and they're so small-'

'The _what s_ tone?' England hisses, believing he misheard the bigger nation.

America blinks. ' _Harry Potter And The Sorcerer's Stone_.'

England stares at him. 'It's _The_ _Philosopher's Stone,_ idiot.'

The younger country grins. 'Not in America.'

It's called ' _The Philosopher's Stone_ '! Why on _earth_ would you rename it?'

'It's easier to say.'

'How is 'Philosopher' hard to say? Phil- o- so- pher!'

'Come on, dude, it's not that big of a deal!'

England is fuming. 'Bloody hell...'

'Said Ron,' America finishes, earning a scathing look from his companion. He laughs, finding England's temper to be amusing.

'You didn't rename any of the others, did you? Did you have trouble with the word 'Azkaban'?' England asks with a touch of condescension.

'It sounds like 'kebabs'!' America says with a giggle.

England groans and presses his forehead up against the window, watching the scenery fly by.

Six hours. Three hundred and sixty minutes, stuck in a train carriage with America. England decides to engage his mind by contemplating any everyday situation for a country that could possibly be worse than this.

None come to mind.

_Well, there's always going to be the part of the journey where we arrive in Birmingham International and France joins us... Still, I'll have probably jumped out of the train by that point._

* * *

_'… Iggy...'_

England freezes, immediately spinning around on the spot, staring at his crew on the deck, but they're all hard at work, most of them scrubbing the deck of the ship.

_'… Iggy.'_

England's fingers tighten around the wheel. The sound is neither coming from the fairly calm sea or anywhere on the ship. England glances up at the sails, blowing in the breeze. Apart from the lookout, there's no one up there.

_'Iggy.'_

Why the bloody hell does that name sound all too familiar? England is about to call out an order to his crew when another _'Iggy!'_ is yelled out, followed by a sharp prodding to his side.

'Bloody what?!' England snaps at America as his emerald eyes fly open.

'I'm bored,' America says simply.

'Let me get this straight,' England says, leaning forwards to place his elbows on the table in front of him, burying his head in his hands. 'You woke me up from a perfectly enjoyable dream to tell me that you're bored, when you could have found something to amuse yourself with and left me sleeping.'

'Well, I know old people need to take lots of naps-'

The smaller country punches America in the arm, earning a yelp from the other blonde. This particular remark has annoyed England because of how youthful he felt in his dream about his pirate days. And hell, there are a number of countries who are older than England. Frog-Face, for one. And look at China!

Fuming, England decides to take a break. 'I'm going to the loo,' he announces stiffly, getting up and squeezing past the bigger nation.

'Don't old people have to do that a lot, too?' America asks innocently, grinning from ear to ear.

'Bloody git,' England mutters as he walks further down the carriage, heading for the toilets.

Apart from the bags under his eyes, England thinks he looks absolutely fine as he observes his reflection in the mirror. _And I only look a bit stressed because of all the preparation for the World Meeting, as well as that bloody Referendum. Plus, I'm stuck with America for the next few hours. Great. Just great._

Nevertheless, his emerald eyes are shining. Despite looking exhausted, England appears happy. He realises that he is, in fact, secretly glad that he's not alone on this train journey. Even if America manages to piss him off to the point in which he will seriously consider jumping off the train, it is nice to have the company.

'But there's no way in hell I'm going to let him know that,' England mutters with a smirk, missing a sparkle of light blue in the mirror, the eyes clearly belonging to someone standing behind him. 'It's not like I can let that ego of his get any bigger-'

'Let me know what?'

England jumps violently and spins around. 'Bloody hell! Don't sneak up on people like that!'

America stands in the open doorway, still smiling that infuriating smile. 'Dude, you didn't even lock the door. I thought you needed to go.'

 _Idiot..._ England thinks, rolling his green eyes. 'I just needed a break. It's pretty frustrating being stuck in a carriage with a complete moron.'

America doesn't even bother to acknowledge the insult but just laughs it away like he always does. 'It's not just me and you on the carriage! There are the humans and...' His expression transforms into something rather thoughtful and slightly confused. 'I... I think I came into Britain with another nation... I swear I was sitting next to another country on the plane, and I got off the train with someone... I think...'

England sighs. 'Honestly, you either travelled here with someone else or you didn't. As far as I am aware, you and I are the only nations on this train, let alone the carriage.'

'… Yeah,' America says, nodding. 'I guess you're right.' His smile reappears. The two countries step away from the bathroom and head back towards their carriage, neither of them spotting a ghost-like country who looks suspiciously like America, standing next to the toilet door, holding onto a small polar bear cub in his arms.

'Well, at least America kind of remembered me,' Canada says softly with a painfully optimistic smile. 'That's a good thing, right, Kumako?'

The polar bear cub (whose real name is Kumajiro, thank you very much) squeaks, 'Who are you?'

'I'm Canada.'

* * *

'Your turn!' America says gleefully, prodding England repeatedly to distract him from the book he is desperately trying to read.

'Fine!' England yells, slamming the book down on the table. 'I spy with my little eye, something beginning with I and B!'

'No fair,' America says with a pout. 'Two letters are too hard!'

'You gave me M and D earlier, idiot!'

'Yeah, but McDonald's is _one_ word... Okay...' America's blue eyes scan the compartment, looking for anything that might give him a hint. At one point he thinks he sees someone who looks vaguely familiar sitting a few seats away with what looks like a polar bear cub, but he dismisses this, believing it to be just his imagination.

'Uh... irresistible bacon?' America wildly guesses, suggesting this because his stomach is starting to rumble.

'What?!'

'Well, bacon is pretty irresistible!'

England groans for what feels like the millionth time. 'There's no bloody bacon on this train.'

'Irresistible burgers?' America asks hopefully. England begins banging his head gently against the table. 'Gimme a clue!'

'It's right next to me,' England says, his voice now muffled because his face is buried in his folded arms.

'Dude, _window_ begins with a W. One word.'

'Not the window, git!'

'Oh! Me!' America exclaims. 'But my name's America... and my human name is Alfred F Jones...'

England smirks into the fabric of his sleeve, aware that America won't get this one. The fool won't even be able to see him smiling.

'Okay, I give up!' America says drastically. 'Come on then- what is it?'

'Insufferable bastard.'

'Not cool, dude!' America says.

England lifts his head up so America can see his cunning little smile. 'But it's very true.'

America pouts again, crossing his arms and glancing the other way. England is reminded of America as a child when he was on the verge of a tantrum. Some things never change.

After a few seconds of silence, America asks, 'Are we there yet?'

England's head slams down on the table again.

* * *

'Dude, did you see that t-rex? Oh, and that creepy bit in the café where the people were all clockwork and stuff.'

Unfortunately, England tunes in a little too late to understand what America is talking about. 'Hmm?'

' _Doctor Who_!' America says excitedly.

Smirking again, England is glad that America has some respect for great British drama. A love for TV shows like _Doctor Who_ and _Sherlock_ are one of the few things the two nations have in common.

While America continues to go on about the part where the t-rex catches fire, England checks the time on his watch. It's still a while before the dreaded French nation will meet them at the station at Birmingham International.

(Picking up chicks? France is there because Prussia dared him to _pick up chicks?!_ As much as England can actually find that believable (because come on- this _is_ France), he knows that France is also probably using that as an excuse. Frog-Face is no doubt there to piss England off. That just about sums it up, really. He'll probably try and molest England as soon as he gets off this train.)

'Hey, Iggy? … I feel like something's watching us…'

'Don't be ridiculous.' Perhaps America has been watching a little _too_ much _Doctor Who_.

'No, seriously! I think there's something in the carriage with us!'

When England actually bothers to glance up at America's face, he can see that the younger nation's expression is full of fear.

England rolls his eyes. 'You know, America… you're right. We're not alone. There are others in this carriage besides us. They're called _humans_.' He gestures vaguely at the human family at the other end of the carriage, all happily chatting away with each other.

America whimpers. 'N-not them! Something e-e-else!'

From a few seats away, Canada says weakly, 'It's okay, America. I think it's just me you can sense…' He trails off when he realises no one can actually hear him- not even Kumajiro, who is gazing blearily at a fly on the window.

America clutches onto England's arm, pressing his head against the older country's shoulder. 'I sp-p-py with m-my l-l-little eye, s-something b-b-b-beginning with G!'

'There are no ghosts on this train, America,' England says in a bored voice, going a little red at the close contact. 'And aren't you supposed to be a hero?'

'I… I _am_ a hero!'

'I'm pretty sure heroes don't hide from ghosts,' England points out.

'They don't!' the bigger nation agrees.

'And they keep people away from harm by protecting them,' England continues, sighing in exasperation. Honestly, America can be such a child; it's ridiculous (even if England doesn't mind it as much as he lets on).

'Oh… I get it,' America says in an unusually quiet voice, his trademark grin returns. 'You want _me_ to protect _you_ from the ghost because you're scared!'

England chokes, quickly turning it into a cough. '… What?'

America wraps one of his arms around England's shoulders, pulling him in close. 'Don't worry, Iggy! The hero will protect you!'

England lets out a string of swear words, struggling to get free. 'Stupid- bloody- wanker- I was just trying- to get you- to- shut- up- you- git!' Across the carriage, the parents of the family glare at the nations, the kids watching with excited grins on their faces.

'Dude, you gotta stop swearing-'

'Unhand me, fool! And it's 'you've got to', not 'you gotta'!'

America finally catches sight of England's extremely flushed face, taking note of those huge eyebrows which are knitted together in frustration. Geez, Iggy must be really mad!

 


End file.
